That Ends Well
by awesomesen
Summary: Three Seals go on a picnic; written on request.


_a friend wrote me a crack story, so i promised to write her something in return. she requested "kamui, sorata, and arashi on a picnic post series." and thus came to be - kamui, sorata, and arashi. on a picnic. post-series. rated for mild language._

* * *

x x x

* * *

First, Arashi had been released. Not—not all at once, not immediately; it was well past Valentine's, nearly March, before she was allowed to leave the hospital. The mental—well, no, Kamui didn't like to think that; he'd rather pretend it had been like him and Sorata—broken bones, burns and tears, internal wounds. Even for Arashi, who he had never really been able to get along with very well—even for her, _released from the mental ward _was too hard to think.

It didn't show. Not really. What did show Kamui could write off, easily enough when she came to visit him, and then when they were living together again, after his release. You couldn't _really _tell. She'd always been quiet, after all, kinda aloof; so, that was—kinda the same, pretty much, anyway, and if she was a little more quiet, a little slower to react, a little—clingier, somehow, he thought, even though she mostly just sat by herself, hands in her lap. But somehow. Like she was reaching out, or just easier to reach—farther away, but willing to be pulled back. Or.

Kamui had been released shortly after Arashi; the normal hospital, for him, injuries compounded by a coma, and then a reluctance to heal. It was nice, kinda—to be treated in a hospital, to have people come and give you food and move your pillow and smile and come whenever he pressed a button—not that he did, much, it just was the fact of it. Soothing.

They healed fast, all of them, but Kamui healed the fastest, and Sorata hadn't yet been released in April, although he was getting there. Soon, he had told Kamui a few days ago; he had even sounded hopeful as he said it, and Arashi had seemed, a little, to uncurl a bit—pull out, a little, from herself, look up and regard them both solemnly. "I want to do something," Kamui had said, abruptly, filled with a nervous energy—

"Yeah, okay," Sorata had said, and Arashi had fluttered out, a little, and touched Sorata's (hospital robes) sleeve so lightly that Kamui was surprised he noticed; Sorata didn't look, just took her hand in his, and Kamui hated them both a little, just a little, just a little.

* * *

x x x

* * *

Of course Sorata was still a patient, still couldn't walk around much, still on pills—a lot of them, Kamui knew, and it was something none of them commented on, even when he saw the nurses bring them in himself. Three or four different pills in different doses, different colors, even—some painkillers, some less simple. For his blood. His guts. Recovering from a stab wound—was more than just bandages.

This was what Kamui knew: Arashi had done it. She had gotten a sword (a different sword, they had both stressed that and he didn't know why; he didn't think it _mattered_). She had gotten a sword and, under Hinoto's command, run him through. None of his major organs had been very damaged, but he had nearly bled to death; if Sorata had been less than a Seal, he would have died. If Arashi hadn't snapped out of it at the sight and—done something; Kamui still didn't know what, they didn't talk about it much, but his instinct was _magic used in the wrong way_ and binding spells—it had been enough, anyway, to keep Sorata from bleeding out and dying in the basement of the DIET.

The worst part was that it was a success story, a victory story. Most everyone else were dead. And Kamui was happy for them, _really_, really happy, but it hurt, too; it _fucking hurt_, it made him weak to see them, because—hey, there they are, alive and well (someday) and happy (someday). And hey, Kamui, here _you _are. Whatever happened to Fuuma? Right. You killed him—ran him through, just like Arashi did to Sorata, a sword and a moment, but Fuuma _had _bled out. Just like that.

He is happy for them. But he hates them, too. Who wouldn't?

They meet in the hospital's courtyard. There are trees and shrubs and tables, and it's paved over, almost all of it, for easy wheelchair access, because patients need to be in wheelchairs, because it's not fair to discriminate, because Sorata still cannot walk. Arashi has sandwiches from a machine in the cafeteria; Kamui brings snacks from a convenience store nearby. High in fat and sugar and salt. Not Hospital Recommended. It was a picnic, Kamui insisted. Like old times—they had never gone on a picnic before, but, but they should have, back when things were better (and everyone alive—). It is overcast and cloudy and misting rain; Kamui still stubbornly finds a table (cement and damp; benches the same, one part of the bench home to a growing puddle) and sits on it, stubborn, his ass growing cold.

Arashi shows up first—even insane, she is punctual. _Nervous breakdown_, Kamui thinks, correcting himself mentally. It wasn't her fault, and it isn't her fault her disorder sounds so old-lady, old rich lady with fur coats. Sorata doesn't blame her (Kamui knows that; he doubts that Sorata would blame her even if she had stabbed him of her own free will—it's retarded, but sort of touching)—so Kamui tries not to, either. His ass is freezing.

Sorata reaches at once past the sandwiches and the hospital-provided tray that he came to the picnic with and tries to grab a bag of chips from Kamui's pile. Arashi for a moment looks wonderfully annoyed and moves as if to slap his hand away. Then she lets it drop and they sit there in an awkward silence (against the other silence from before that, which Kamui deems less awkward just for contrast, it's all awkward, really, because they don't have anything to talk about anymore). Sorata eats two or three chips before getting tired of not being noticed for it.

"So how's school?" Sorata asks Kamui finally. He is the only one of them still going, although he skips more often than not lately, but he doesn't say that. Then he considers saying that, for the conflict, then he changes his mind again. He's just as indecisive as they are, he thinks with some distress.

"Fine. We're studying India." A couple of months ago, anyway. Close enough. His turn. "When are you going to start going again?"

Sorata pretends to look thoughtful. "Probably a bit after I start walking again. Or so."

"You could at least do your homework in the meantime," Kamui says, looking at Arashi as he says it because he's almost positive that's actually her line.

"My medicine tires me out. Can't help it that I've fallen behind," Sorata replies very smoothly and without guilt, and since Kamui doesn't know what to say after that, he just fidgets, shifting on the bench as if to check if there isn't a warmer spot. So he eats a sandwich. Arashi does, too, concentrating on the food—she always does, always has as far as Kamui remembers, but it's creepier now.

"What about you?" he asks her suddenly, rather too loud.

Arashi regards him silently, and he's just about decided that she won't answer at all, just go back into what is probably her crazy nutcase world and that will be that, but then she looks back at her lunch and answers it instead of him. "My doctor said I shouldn't yet." She sounds cross, which is a relief.

"At this rate, we'll all be in the same grade," Sorata says, sounding rather too pleased, and flashing Arashi a smile that Kamui finds gross more than sweet.

"At this rate, I'll be yourupperclassman," Kamui retorted. This was actually a rather interesting thought and he turned it over in his head.

"Hm? So would you tutor me, then?" Sorata this time stole a can of soda from Kamui, drinking it with quite a bit of relish.

"I'd probably be better at it than you are."

"I'm a _very good_ teacher," the reply came, full of exaggerated offense.

"You're horrible." It was Arashi who said it, not Kamui, and he and Sorata both looked at her with surprise. Her expression—which was blank, of course—didn't change. "At tutoring," she clarified, probably in response to the looks of incredulity (Kamui) and hurt (Sorata) she was getting. Sorata relaxed visibly; Kamui settled for blinking.

"Also, I am _not_," Sorata adds after a moment. "In fact, I am in fact the most awesome person you know." There is no reply to that, although he is clearly aiming for one. The silence once again becomes awkward.

"Not at tutoring," Arashi says, after such a long pause that it is almost worse than if she had said nothing.

"But at everything else?" This time, she doesn't reply at all. Kamui eats a sandwich and the conversation peters out again; he drinks a soda and it doesn't start still, and he realizes about half way through the can he's the only one eating or drinking.

He stares at them both until they look away; "Well," Sorata says, wheeling backwards in his chair a little—"this was fun."

"Don't lie," Kamui tells him.

* * *

x x x

* * *


End file.
